


Seriously?  Fucking Barrels?

by Teeelsie



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 5x06, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teeelsie/pseuds/Teeelsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny does not react well to the barrel full of money; Steve is there to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seriously?  Fucking Barrels?

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I am frustrated and have to vent through fic. I saw them land on that boat with the barrel of money and I thought "Oh, good, we'll get something more here besides a token conversation at the overlook..." No such luck, I guess! I honestly don't know if that whole barrel of money thing was just a coincidence or if maybe (I hope!) it might come back to haunt later - but if not, or until then, this is my fix.
> 
> Also writing this to give Steve the benefit of the doubt that he isn't actually as much of an insensitive jerk as they wrote him to be in this ep. 
> 
> Just a one-shot. Hope you like...

 

 

Steve pokes his head into Danny’s office. “Hey. It’s late… well early, actually. Time to knock off, huh?” They had worked through the night and much of the morning wrapping up Jerry’s counterfeiting case. The sun is well up and they are both a little bleary-eyed, but Steve can feel his second wind coming on. “You want to come by the house, maybe catch a couple fish – put them on the grill?”

 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I still have a few things to wrap up here – been up all night and I’m running on fumes already. The time change thing… really messing me up, you know?” Danny’s glance skitters away from his partner. He’s been on edge since that fucking boat and the fucking barrel of fucking money. Seriously? Of all the first cases for them to catch after Matty, it’s got to be a case with a barrel of fucking money? How is this his life? His feels his hands tremble a little and he quickly moves them from his desk to grip the arms of his chair.

 

“Danny. Are you sure? Maybe you wanna talk?” Steve’s tone is soft. He’s been watching his partner surreptitiously through the office windows the entire morning. Danny’s been distracted, jerky, pale… nothing good. He had hoped Danny would come along with him – give them the chance to reconnect. It’d been strange while Danny was gone and completely out of communication. He tried repeatedly to call his partner, but every single one of his calls went to voicemail. Steve understands how Danny feels and badly wants to help him avoid the misery that Steve has inflicted upon himself the last few years.  But then he had been so laser-focused on the op – making sure Danny didn’t get hurt – that it wasn’t until much later that he looked at the barrel of money on the boat-deck and the biggest fucking light bulb in the universe finally went on over his head. Shit… Danny… He looked around for his partner and saw him leaning against the rail at the stern of the boat, staring dazedly at the open barrel.  Jesus Christ, he was an idiot sometimes. He started moving double-time to wrap up what they need to do on the boat so he could get Danny the hell out of there as soon as possible.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Next time, huh? I’m just going to finish up and head home. Thanks, though.”  He’s not up for another pep talk about Matty' death not being his fault. Easy to say – less easy to believe. He knows there is some truth to what Steve says, because he’s been telling Steve the same thing for four years, but guilt isn’t something you can just turn off. Danny ducks his head back down to look at the papers on his desk. They’re the same papers he’s been staring at for the last hour, but he’s hoping Steve will take the hint and leave soon because he’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his shit any minute, and he would really like to not do that in front of SuperSEAL

 

Steve stares at Danny for another minute. He’s uneasy about leaving him. He can tell there’s a lot going on in his partner’s head and he sees that his hands are shaking a little.  He wants to help if he can, but Danny doesn’t seem ready to open up yet. “OK. Listen, don’t stay too long. You should go get some rest. But, uh, if you feel up to it later, swing by.  I’ll be around.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

 

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

 

Steve is just pulling out of the HQ parking lot when his phone rings. He hopes it will be Danny, telling him he's changed his mind, but is surprised (kind of pleasantly), to see it is Ellie Clayton.

 

“Hi there!” Ellie says cheerfully. “I heard you caught yourselves some counterfeiters.”

 

Steve likes Ellie. She’s smart, and kind, and funny, and even though they have only known each other for a short while, he feels like they already share a connection. “Yes we did, yes we did. No thanks to you and your judge,” he teases.

 

“Well, I just thought I’d call and see if maybe you wanted to get together to celebrate... “ She trails off, sounding a little hesitant.

 

Steve smiles on his end of the phone. “How do you feel about fishing?”

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

Danny sits at his desk and tries to concentrate long enough to actually complete a task but isn’t having much luck with that. When he gets the fucking photo of Steve with Eric Dickerson, it's pretty much the last straw and Danny gives up, closes up shop, and heads out. As he drives home, his thoughts race through the events of the last 24 hours. Flashes of the boat, the barrel, the money, keep cycling through his head. Soon enough, those memories are overlaid with other vivid images: Matty; a dark basement; a barrel; Reyes’ brains all over the wall and Danny’s shirt. His chest feels tight and his breathing comes fast. He tries to distract himself: he opens the windows to let the air blow through the car; he turns on the radio, loud; he concentrates on each block, counting them down as he makes his way to his house.

 

He is incredibly relieved that he manages to make it home without having to stop, and as soon as he throws his car into ‘park’ he stumbles out of it and into his house as fast as he can. Once inside, he slams the door behind himself and slides down to sit on the floor, head between his knees, panting rapidly. Danny has never had a panic-attack before, but he's pretty sure that's what this is. Images assault his mind with no let-up. He tips over onto his side, clutching his legs into a tight fetal-position, tears now flowing unchecked down his face. _Calm down calm down calm down_ , he chants to himself, but his breathing seems to spiral further out of control and soon his vision is tunneling and then everything is gone.

 

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

 

He wakes up shivering on the floor – he has no idea how long he has been there. His entire body feels slick with sweat, his muscles ache and his head is killing him. He slowly gets to his feet and makes his way toward his bedroom – holding the wall the entire way. When he finally gets there, all he can think about is getting out of the constriction of his clothes and he rips his shirt from his body, sending buttons flying across the room.   He doesn’t bother with his pants before he falls into his bed. He hopes that what just happened in the front hall is over, but those hopes are dashed when the flurry of images attacks again. This time, they are all mixed together: the barrel with Matt is on the boat; Steve is with him at the funeral; his mother watches him murder a man in a stifling basement. Danny whimpers at the miasma of confusion pummeling his brain.  As his breathing accelerates, veering dangerously toward hyperventilation again, he folds in on himself and tucks his head under the covers, hoping to slow the rapid draw of oxygen.

 

It doesn’t work. His chest is tight and his breathing is still coming fast and hard and he can’t stop the horror of the slideshow playing in his head. ‘The kitchen’, he thinks vaguely. If he can get to the kitchen, he can get a paper bag to breathe into – that’s what people do, right?   To stop hyperventilating? He can hardly force his body out of the tight curl it is in, so he rolls to the side of the bed and tumbles out. It takes him a few more moments of lying still before he can sit up again, afraid if he does he will throw up.  As soon as he manages to sit up, he knows immediately that he is not going to be able to get to his feet. Instead, he starts to crawl in the direction of the kitchen, moving at a snail’s pace, stopping often to lay his head on the floor before gritting against his nausea and anxiety and moving forward again.  

 

Half-way: he is only half-way, and he can’t go any further. He is sweating profusely, his muscles are cramping, and his extremities are numb. He collapses, whimpering into the floor again, thinking that it is possible that he might actually die right here. ‘Oh God, please don’t let Grace be the one to find me’, is the last thought he has before sliding into unconsciousness again.

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

 

Steve and Ellie sit in the yard enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice; Ellie is easy to be with - in a comfortable kind of  way - and they have spent a good deal of the afternoon laughing effortlessly with each other.   But at the back of Steve’s mind, an uneasy thought refuses to quiet itself. He can’t stop thinking about Danny – the dark look he saw pass over his face on the boat, and the pale face and shadowed eyes he’d left in the office.

 

“Hey, Ellie, excuse me a sec, would you? I need to call my partner.”

 

“Is everything OK?” he can hear her slight confusion at his abrupt course-change.

 

“Yeah, yeah, It’s just… he’s had a rough couple weeks and I just want to check in on him,” he reassures her with a smile.

 

“Of course.” She smiles back.

 

Steve steps away from the chairs and dials Danny’s number, not really thinking he’ll answer, but feeling compelled to try anyway. It doesn’t go right to voicemail as it had done so many times before, instead ringing several time before it stops.

 

“Danny?” Steve asks, not sure if the line had picked up or not. There is no response, but it doesn’t click off either. Steve is about to disconnect the call and try again when he thinks he hears a sound on the other end of the line.

 

“Danny? You there?"  He tries again. He presses the phone hard to his ear trying to catch any sound he can. There is nothing for a couple of seconds and then the sound of loud, emphatic breathing blasts into his ear.

 

“Danny! Danny – what’s going on? Are you OK? Danny!?” Steve is almost yelling, his mind moving at lightning speed to sift through possible scenarios for what might be happening.

 

“Sss… Ss… Steve…” comes the strangled response from the other end of the phone.

 

Steve recognizes this; he knows what's going on - he's been there himself.  “Danny! Where are you? Are you at home? Danny! Talk to me, Buddy! Come on… tell me where you are!” Steve demands, his eyes wide with panic himself. He turns and looks over toward where he left Ellie; she is standing now, looking with clear concern at what she can hear of the conversation.

 

“Ye..yes..” he hears Danny choke, then hears a clattering of what he assumes is the phone falling on the floor. He can still hear a hard rasping breath coming through the line, though it has the echoing sound of being far away.

 

“Danny! Hang on! I’m coming – Just hand on – I’ll be right there!!” Steve hangs up the phone and is already running toward the house, Ellie following close on his heels. “I have to go!” Steve yells over his shoulder, and he barely hears her words of acknowledgement as he bolts for his truck.

 

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

Danny is lying in the hall, in the grip of another surge of anxiety where he dimly registers his phone ringing. His pocket. It’s in his pants’ pocket. He still has his pants on. He reaches a shaking hand behind him to take it out, hardly able to keep his fingers wrapped around it as he pulls it up to his face. It’s Steve. Oh, thank god, it’s Steve, maybe Steve can help him. No, shit, it’s Steve… he doesn’t want Steve to see him like this… But he’s so uncoordinated that he must have accidently hit the ‘accept’ button because suddenly he hears his partner’s voice, piercing the fog of his thoughts.

 

“Danny?” He hears the wondering in his voice.

 

“Danny? You there?” It comes again. This time he hears the growing concern. Oh, God, he doesn’t want to do this, but his panic is rising again and he’s not sure how much more of this he can take. He knows he needs help, and, really, there is no one in the world he trusts to help him more than Steve. He just wishes like hell that he could avoid Steve seeing him like this. But he can’t. He can’t avoid it, because the way he’s feeling, he doesn’t think he’ll ever move from this spot without someone picking him up off of the floor.

 

“Sss… Ss… Steve…” He has a difficult time getting that one syllable out, and can’t force any more words to accompany it.

 

“Danny! Where are you? Are you at home? Danny! Talk to me, Buddy! Come on… tell me where you are!” He can hear panic in Steve’s voice now, and how’s that for ironic? Steve’s panicking. Oh, God, he hopes Steve doesn’t have a panic attack too, because then who would save him? Danny would laugh if he were physically capable, but he’s not, not at the moment.

 

“Ye..yes..” OK, he’s done. Steve knows he’s in trouble, knows where he is, and now he can stop worrying about holding onto the phone. It tumbles from his cramping fingers and clatters on the floor. Danny can hear Steve yelling some more, but his eyes are clamped tightly shut now and he’s just concentrating on trying to control his breathing – though much like before, he’s having little success at it.  He stops listening and starts praying that Steve will get there soon.

 

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

 

Steve isn’t sure he has ever driven so fast to Danny’s house from his, and he’s sure he males it in record-breaking time. He puts on the lights and the siren and breaks every traffic law on the books, but it still isn’t nearly fast enough. He flies out of the truck and runs up to the house – bursting through the front door on the fly.

 

“Danny!” He yells, looking wildly around. Steve takes two steps before he sees him, wearing pants but no shirt, curled on his side on the floor. He runs to Danny’s side, stunned at the vast change in his partner’s appearance since he saw him just a few hours ago. Then he looked tired and a little pale; now he is deathly white and his eyes look bruised with exhaustion. He is glistening with sweat, his body is shaking uncontrollably, tears and snot run down his face, and his breathing is bordering on hyperventilation. Danny is clearly in the throes of a serious panic attack and Steve’s mind reels at seeing his partner this way.

 

“Jesus, Danny!" Steve gently touches his partner, who jerks suddenly, only just realizing someone is there with him.

 

“Ss…Steve…?”

 

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. I’m here. Hang on just one second, OK. I’ll be right back. Just hang on.” Steve jumps up, runs to the kitchen and rifles through drawers until he finds a paper bag. Running back through to the hall, he diverts quickly to the bedroom, grabbing the blanket off the bed before he returns to his partner.

 

“Hey, Danny… come ‘ere, let’s get you up a little, OK?” Steve asks, gently pulling him up to sitting. Danny still holds himself in a tight ball as Steve shimmies in behind him, pulling Danny’s back against his own chest. He pulls the blanket up and drapes it over Danny’s body all the way to his neck, tucking it tightly around him, then he quickly scrunches up the bag, squeezing the opening into a small hole.

 

”OK, buddy, breathe into this… try to relax…” he coaxes as he presses the bag to Danny’s face.

 

For a second, Danny’s panic seems to escalate, and he thrashes a bit against Steve, but Steve uses his legs to clamp down around Danny’s torso and hugs him tight with his free arm. “It’s OK, Danny… it’s OK. I’ve got you… I’ve got you. It’s OK… breathe, buddy, just breathe…”

 

After a moment of squirming, the bag seems to start to do the trick, because Danny’s breathing becomes noticeably slower and more regular.  “That’s right, Danny. That’s good…you’re doing great. Just keep going… try to relax.” Steve soothes.

 

After a minute, Danny feels his mind clear a bit. He groans and bats the bag and Steve’s hand away from his face. “Good. I’m good,” he rasps, his breathing far more under control.

 

“I don’t think you’re good, Danny,” he hears Steve say, low and serious in his ear.

 

“Fuck.” Danny utters with resignation, and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against Steve’s shoulder. He is relieved when Steve doesn’t say anything, but just holds him tighter, and after a moment, his exhaustion overtakes him completely and he is out.

 

 

5o5o5o5o5o

 

 

When Danny wakes up, he is utterly confused. He takes a moment to catalog his surroundings and state of being. It is dark, but he is in his house, in his bed; that much is obvious. He feels completed wrecked though, and he tries to work backward to remember how he got there. When it comes to him, he puts his hands over his face and mutters a deeply annoyed, “Fuck!”

 

“Yeah, you said that already.” Danny startles to hear Steve’s voice, and he turns his head to see his partner lying down next to him.

 

“How did I get here? Last thing I knew I was in the hall and you had a bag over my face.”

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

“I just said I don’t remember, didn’t I?” Danny snaps sharply. He is deeply uncomfortable and embarrassed and wants nothing more in the world than for this whole episode to be over.

 

“I brought you in.”

 

“Christ. Did you carry me?” Danny can feel the heat of a humiliated flush creeping up his neck.

 

“Not really. You were pretty out of it, but you made it in here mostly under your own steam.”

 

Thank god for small favors, thinks Danny, but he doesn’t say anything.  He feels his heart accelerating a bit, as disquieting memories poked at him again, but thankfully he remains calm and doesn’t feel himself begin to lose control. Danny sighs with relief and turns his head to face his partner.

 

“Thank you.” He says awkwardly, looking quickly back up at the ceiling – that is somehow safer than looking into Steve’s eyes, because the worry he is telegraphing makes Danny feel prickly.

 

“Don’t thank me, Danny. I never should have left you alone in the first place,” Steve mutters, in what Danny can hear is his ‘self-flagellation’ voice.

 

Danny rolls his eyes. “Christ. I am too tired for this. If you are going to tell me not to blame myself for Matty, then you cannot lie there and be feeling guilty about me having a panic attack. I do not have the energy or patience for this right now, Steven, so knock it off!” After he vents, he turns toward Steve again, and this time sees a small smirk.

 

“What?” Danny snaps, though with far less venom than before.

 

“Good to have you back, buddy.”

 

Danny looks at Steve and quirks up half his mouth. “Whatever,” and turns his sight back upward toward the very fascinating white ceiling.

 

“What happened, Danno?” Steve asks softly.

 

Danny sighs heavily and rubs his eyes, not sure he wants to go there right now. But Steve had come for him and is here with him now, and he figures the least he owes is an explanation.

 

“That fucking barrel…” is all he can bring himself to say, but he’s pretty sure Steve will get it.

 

“Yeah, I kinda thought that might be it.”

 

And suddenly Danny is laughing. Laughing just like when the bomb squad deactivated that ridiculous proximity bomb; and like when he had a fucking building collapse on him and Steve wanted to pull a chunk of metal out of him so it wouldn’t get worse – worse!  It is a stressful, uncontrolled laugh and it has him in its grips at the moment.

 

“Can you fucking believe that that asshole had a barrel full of money? What are the odds, huh? I mean… what the honest-to-god fuck?!” Danny is laughing, and Steve is laughing, and both of their eyes are glistening a little.

 

Danny looks at Steve and they laugh for a few more seconds, then he gets himself under control once again.

 

“Uh… that was… it was… pretty bad, huh?  What if…” But Danny is unnerved and can’t bring himself to complete the thought.

 

“It happens, Danny; I've been there myself.  Once in a while, our bodies just have to shut down a little at the shit our brains throw at us. But just because it happened once, doesn’t mean it will happen a lot, or even ever again.”

 

Danny looks thoughtfully at his partner, hoping that’s true. For the moment though, he is feeling better, and the last few hours are rapidly catch up with him. “OK... Yeah, OK... I think I need a shower pretty bad. And I’m starving and I have no food in my house. How about you get something delivered while I wash this stench off of me.”

 

“Good idea,” Steve says, as he hops off the bed and heads for the kitchen, understanding that his partner could use a few minutes in private to fully collect himself.

 

Danny watches Steve go, wondering why he ever hesitated to call, and thanking all that is holy that Steve is his partner and friend.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your comments are appreciated! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
